


how to play a game of trust when your partner is the shadiest bastard you’ve ever met

by crytalstellar, Khismer



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Denial of Feelings, Dubious Consent, F/M, Modern Royalty AU, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Teasing, because mc is totally attracted to saeran but so deep in denial about it, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crytalstellar/pseuds/crytalstellar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: saeran just seemed so pleased at what was going on that he just had to be planning something devious.or, at least that's what you thought. when it turns out you were wrong, you have to make it up to him.somehow.





	how to play a game of trust when your partner is the shadiest bastard you’ve ever met

**Author's Note:**

> back in june during saeran week on tumblr, i asked kelsey if she wanted to do a collab for one of the prompts, and that's how this fic came to be! unfortunately, it's kinda late, but hey, it was totally worth the wait, imo! if you aren't familiar with kelsey's fics, i implore you to go read them! i did my best to match up to her amazing writing! and i think i did pretty good? :D
> 
> furthermore, we spent a whole month talking about this modern royalty au. and i hope we write more of it for people to enjoy in the future! there are reasons for saeran being like this and mc being like that! > w < anyway, please enjoy!!

You’ve been hiding out all day, tucked away with the coziest blanket you could find in a pile of decorative pillows in a less-used wing of the palace. **  
**

You’ve silenced your phone because you can’t bear to hear the sound of the messages that will inevitably be flooding in soon, thanks to  _Saeran_.

Well. Saeran, and that stupid press conference.

You were supposed to be there with him, but you knew, you knew he was going to pull something and leave you floundering on national television, make you look like an idiot. He’d just been so… so  _pleased_  with himself. Kept reminding you of when it was, kept asking about what you were wearing, wanted to know if you were ready, if you’d prepared for all the questions you might be asked. And when has he ever been that prepared?

Saeran, the spoiled prince, excited to be giving a press conference on  _environmental protection_? No, he can’t have been sincere. It just doesn’t fit with the royal brat you know.

You’ve only ever known him to be, well – awful. Especially to you. He  _had_  to have something devious in mind, like – telling the whole room that you’ve finally decided on a wedding date, which will limit the amount of time you have to find a way out of this farce of an ‘engagement.’ Or making lascivious remarks about you that’ll sully your reputation even more. Or, god, what if he was planning on showing everyone _that recording_? Even now, the thought makes you cringe.

So what does it matter if you’re not there? What does it matter if they’re left tittering over why you didn’t show? He’ll find a way to make you miserable whether you’re there or not, and if the tabloids are going to have a field day with this anyway, you might as well delay the pain for a few hours and stay home. Besides, in the palace you can drown your sorrows in ice cream.

Speaking of which…

You frown at the pillow currently hiding your phone, so you don’t accidentally catch a glimpse of any push notifications that may contain news of the conference. You’d called down about getting another pint a while ago and it still hasn’t arrived. Should you call the kitchens again? They might just be busy… but surely it wouldn’t hurt to just check? It would be easier to wallow in your anguish with some comfort food.

You make up your mind and pick up your phone when you hear footsteps in the hall.

You freeze, waiting for them to pass you by, but as they get louder and louder, your paranoia spikes, and you throw your blanket over your head. This is  _not_  how you want to be seen. Only Eun-ji, the newest chef, has witnessed you in your Misery Mound, and you have no desire to change that.

But the door opens with a creak, much to your dismay.

There is silence for a moment, and then the door closes. You breathe a sigh of relief – and the footsteps come even closer.

You let out a squeak and burrow into the pillows. It’s irrational, you know; surely if someone is looking for you, they won’t be deterred by your flimsy cover. And it might be Eun-ji, bringing you your ice cream! But… the gait seems wrong, the footsteps too heavy.

…it’s quiet. What are they doing? Are they even still in here, or did you mistake the sound of them leaving for them coming closer? You hold your breath and steel yourself to check.

And then the blanket is snatched away from you and there is Saeran, scowling and looking more than a little irritated in one of his tailored suits.

You scramble to steal the blanket back, shooting Saeran a nervous grin, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I think the better question is what are  _you_  doing here.”

“Well…” Try as you might, no excuses come to mind. Probably because, in truth, you don’t have any. None that are good anyway. With the blanket gone, you grab the closest pillow and try to use it to hide your face, but Saeran yanks it from your grasp and tosses it haphazardly behind him. Figuring any other attempts to use the pillows as protection will be useless, you weakly hide your face behind your hands.

Saeran, however, seems to find this unacceptable, because he takes hold of one of your hands and tugs until he can see your face, then crouches down, expression severe. When he speaks, there is a hard edge to his voice. “Tell me why I told a room full of reporters that you were feeling ill and regretted being unable to see the culmination of your hard work, why I worried for hours over you not only not showing up but not breathing a word to me about the matter, why I couldn’t get ahold of you and couldn’t find anyone who’d seen you since this morning – until this.”

He lets go of your wrist and thrusts the pint of ice cream that you’ve been waiting on in your face. You feel a flash of anger. Judging from the way he’s crushing it in his grasp, it looks like it’s empty. Did he seriously eat  _your_ ice cream? “And a little birdie finally told me that you’d been holed up in here  _aaaaaaall_  day, eating ice cream and hiding out. From me.” His eyes narrow and his voice goes flat. “Why.”

You feel a pang of guilt – and then irritation at that guilt. He should _know_  why.

“The press conference,” you say, a bitter edge to your voice. “How’d it go without me there?”

He narrows his eyes, but responds, “it went fine. Exactly as planned. But don’t think you’re getting out of telling me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t keep the smirk from your face, spiteful though it is. “Oh, we’ll get to that,” you say. “But I’m not sure I believe you.” His eyebrows raise but you continue, “ _exactly_  as planned? My absence didn’t… ruin anything you were thinking of doing? Something you were going to _add_  to the interview without telling me?” Something to humiliate you, crush your spirit even more?

“What do you mean?” he asks slowly, like he can’t tell what you’re getting at. “No, I didn’t add anything except apologies for your unplanned absence.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “sure.”

“What–” A flash of irritation crosses his face, and he pulls his phone from his pocket. He types something, then turns it around and shoves it close to your face.

You open your mouth to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing, and then you catch sight of what’s on the screen.

It’s a news article. ‘ _Prince Saeran dazzles at early morning press conference_ ,’ it reads.

You shoot him a puzzled and slightly irritated look.

“Just read it,” he snaps, so you take the phone from his hands and begin to scroll through the article.

_‘Prince Saeran charmed reporters at this morning’s press conference, where he announced the establishment of a new environmental protection act._

_Despite the absence of his fiancée, rightful heir to the throne and activist in her own right, the normally-politically inactive prince was front and center during interviews and full of praise for his fiancée, citing her passion for preserving the world’s natural beauty as the driving force behind the project._

_“It really couldn’t have been done without her. Her devotion inspires us all.”_

_The act is planned to go into effect later this year.’_

Your face is drained of color when you finish reading and slowly look up at Saeran.

He… didn’t mess it up. He didn’t say anything awful about you. He was… perfect, it sounds like.

The more you think it over, the more you feel like shit.

“I,” you stammer, “I’m so sorry, I thought – I assumed–”

“Assumed what?” Saeran demands, crossing his arms across his chest.

Your throat suddenly feels very dry. All of the thoughts and worries you had earlier swim around in your mind, but you can’t seem to vocalize any of them, especially when each and every one of them demonizes Saeran in some form. Ashamed, you look away from him.

“Tell me,” he grounds out impatiently.

You should. You have to. You don’t want to, but you at least owe him that much for what he did. In a small voice, you finally admit, your words in a jumble, “…you were just so… so pleased about the whole thing that I thought… I was afraid…”

You trail off, a lump growing in your throat.

“Afraid of what?” Saeran urges you to continue.

“…I was afraid you’d do something to embarrass me or sabotage me…”

Finally, you look back up at Saeran, but almost instantly you regret the decision. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest at the expression on his face. He looks insulted and, more than that, he looks like he’s in pain.

“You… really thought that?” His voice is low, shaky and god, if the look on his face isn’t enough to send you down to guilt city, the sound of his voice sure is.

“I…” Your throat tightens as you struggle to say something. Anything. Seeing Saeran so hurt like this makes you feel strangely uneasy. You’d do anything to make this feeling go away. “I’m sorry.”

“I was excited because this project was something you poured your heart and soul into.”

The confession startles you, steals the words from your lips. Does he  _mean_  that? But he’s always messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you.

Confusion and doubt war within you, and before either can win, he speaks up again.

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you… right?” Saeran’s voice is soft, and the way he looks at you is uncharacteristically gentle.

“I…” Do  _you_  know that? It’s not surprising that you thought he was going to humiliate you today, with his track record. But… then again, when was the last time he did that in public, where someone else could see you? Let alone during a televised event…

The longer you hesitate, the more hurt he looks. The pain in his eyes roots you to your very core. A gnawing sense of guilt eats at you and you rip your gaze from his, unable to take it. You swallow thickly. Regardless of whether or not you  _know_  if he would intentionally hurt you, the fact of the matter is that this time he did not, despite your fears. If anything, you at  _least_ owe him an apology. “I… I’m sorry, Saeran.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Saeran still watching you. It’s evident that your apology has done nothing to ease the pain. He asks in a strained voice, “…do you not trust me?”

“I…” Here he goes again with another hard hitting question. Do you trust him? In a sense, yes, you  _trust_  him to act like a complete asshole, but you know that’s not what he’s asking. Would you trust him with your hopes, your fears, your  _life_? When you think about it, the truth of the matter is that you  _don’t_  know.

More often than not, he’s an overbearing jerk who can’t keep his damn hands to himself. Sometimes, you can’t stand him. But there are other times, where he’s like  _this_ , gentle and thoughtful. Either way, the majority of the time it feels like he’s toying with you and how are you supposed to trust someone like that?

You look back to Saeran and he still,  _still_  has that pained look his face. Does the fact that you can’t trust him really hurt _that_  much? He should know full well _why_ , and yet, looking at him like that still makes you feel uncomfortable. You take a deep breath, “…I’m sorry, but I don’t- not entirely.”

Saeran’s brow furrows, but, much to your surprise, he says nothing. You thought he might complain or protest, but he doesn’t. Does that mean he actually  _knows_  that his behavior since he roped you back into this fake engagement has been less than stellar? If that’s the case then, maybe there’s hope for him yet.

“But I… I know that this time, I’m the one who wronged you. I…” you hesitate, the words getting stuck in your throat as you try to speak. “I should have talked to you about it rather than assuming your intentions, will you forgive me for that?”

Your heart starts to race a little while you wait on his answer. Will the angel that covered for you at today’s press conference speak, absolving you of misdeeds, or will the devil appear and demand reparations?

“…yes.” Your heart soars at his words. “…but only on one condition.”

And then your heart drops. It seems that the angel and devil within Saeran made some kind of compromise.

“What is it?” you ask tentatively, unsure of where this may lead.

“I want you to trust me.”

You almost laugh, “You know that it’s not like a switch I can just turn on, don’t you?”

Saeran gives you a thoughtful look. At least he seems to acknowledge your point. “Fine. Then why we don’t do something to build your trust in me?”

Something to build your trust? Seeing that he didn’t use the press conference as an opportunity to humiliate you is a good start, but it’s not like he can speed through a dozen of those in a row to show that he can behave himself consistently. How can he build up your trust right here, right  _now_? Unless…

“Like one of those exercises where you fall back and hope the person behind you to catch them?” you ask.

Saeran’s eyes widen for a second before he shoots you one of his infamous little smirks, “Mmm, something like that, I guess.”

The look on his face makes you suspect that he’s got more in mind than a simple trust exercise. You wouldn’t put it past Saeran to pull something unscrupulous. That being said, not only did he cover for your absence at the press conference, he actually gave a _good_  presentation on everything you had planned to cover. Saeran could have just cancelled the whole thing, saying the show could not go on in your absence, but he  _didn’t_. And for that, you owe him.

Big time.

“Alright, alright,” you relent, reluctantly leaving the comfort of your Misery Mound. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Thought you’d see things my way.”

You roll your eyes. Insufferable prick. Maybe you should just change your mind now before he gets too out of hand. You can find some other way to repay him. Buy him ice cream for a month or something. You’re just about to suggest this wonderful idea when he starts to pull at his tie. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the sight. He can’t seriously be  _undressing_ , can he? Your face heats up and you immediately look away from him, stammering, “Wh-what are you doing?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him slide the tie from his neck, and undo the top button of his shirt. You ignore the tiny gremlin in the back of your head that cries out in disappointment when he appears to stop his little strip tease. You also ignore the smug little grin Saeran shoots you, as if he heard that traitorous little monster in your head.  “Nothing really.”

You roll your eyes. Yeah.  _Right._  Saeran is too attractive for his own damn good.

Saeran comes over to you and drapes the tie over your eyes like a blindfold, earning him yet another protest.

“Don’t people usually just close their eyes for this?”

“Just trust me on this,” he instructs and you sigh. That’s right, this is _supposed_  to be a trust exercise, but using a blindfold just seems outright excessive.

Saeran spins you around and you assume that now your back is to him. He takes a few steps back before saying, “Ready when you are.”

You take a deep breath. To be honest, you’ve never actually done one of these before. You know how it works in theory; you’ve seen it done before. But… only in movies, never in real life, and you can’t help but remember that one movie where someone failed to catch the person falling and let them land on their ass, or the one where someone did _try_ to catch the falling person but they both ended up tumbling to the ground. You’re afraid that that’s going to be you and Saeran – a tangled mess on the floor.

But then again it’s  _Saeran_  you’re talking about, maybe that’s what he wants? To put you in another compromising position so that he can just do with you as he pleases?

The thought of it makes you hesitate. What if that really is what he’s after? What if he just wants to gain your trust just to betray it over and over? What if he’s just playing some sick game with you? What if…

You shake your head. No. Stop. The point of this is to learn how trust him, and until you can find a way out of this fake engagement he’s trapped you in, you should be able to at least trust him a little bit. He’s in the same boat as you, after all, albeit far more willingly.

So you take a deep breath, and lean back, ready to fall back into what you hope is Saeran’s waiting arms.

Then you feel his hands on your waist. It doesn’t take you much longer to realize that you’ve been had.

“Saeran!” you cry out. “What are you doing?”

You feel a presence come close to the side of your face. Saeran’s warm breath sends shivers down your spine as he informs you, “As happy as I am to see that you were willing to fall, I thought of an equally good way for you to make it up to me.”

You’re about to ask what, even though at this point you already know the answer, but then you feel Saeran’s lips run down your neck. Your knees grow weak as he nips at the skin, making it a point to focus on your sensitive spots. Try as you might to keep it in, a loud moan slips through your lips as his teeth graze roughly against your skin. Luckily, no one is nearby to hear you, but you can bet that’ll leave a mark tomorrow.

Damn him and damn you too. You should have known he’d pull a stunt like this, you never should have-

His hands slip under your shirt, and slide up toward your chest. You panic, remembering that you didn’t wear a bra to maximize comfort while you wallowed in your misery. However, it is soon forgotten as Saeran squeezes your breasts, chuckling as he toys with your nipples. Automatically, your back arches in pleasure and you accidentally rub your butt against his pelvic area.

You add what you felt there to your list of things to ignore for today.

Saeran hums contentedly against your skin, no doubt pleased with the reactions he’s getting from you. At least  _one_  of you is pleased. Admittedly, just like usual, what he’s doing feels good, but you’re still in the business of not giving him the satisfaction of admitting to it.

He kneads at your breasts, relishing in each breath and sigh that escapes from you. With his every touch, your body gets hotter and hotter. Something deep inside you claws at you, yearning for more, more, more of his touch.

He tilts you forward a bit, one hand sliding back down, down until he’s tracing the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Saeran!” you gasp.

He presses his lips right next to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he murmurs, “Yes, my dear princess?”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Hm, I wonder…”

If there’s anything you’ve learned thus far, is that no matter how much Saeran may tease you, he has a limit. You’re not sure if it’s because he wants you to admit that you want him, or if there is some other reason, but he always stops short of going all the way.

Still, the meaningful tone of his voice gives you pause. He’s not going to change that tonight… is he? Well, he certainly won’t if he’s waiting for you to beg him for it, because that’s not going to happen.

At least, that’s what you think until he tweaks a nipple and then your resolve wavers as you squirm. But only for a moment!

He chuckles, and you try not to shiver at the sound. “Still comfortable with this trust exercise?”

The question makes you bristle. He really thinks you’re going to back down that easy. “Of course,” you huff.

“Alright then,” Saeran hums, making no efforts to hide his amusement. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. His touch makes your spine stiffen immediately.  

“Do you _trust_  me enough for this?” You can practically hear him smirking.

You roll your eyes at him, though he can’t see it from behind your makeshift blindfold.  That’s certainly a loaded question. It’s becoming less of a question of do you trust him and more of a do you trust yourself to not fall into temptation. You know that you could just tell him no, and just end this joke of a trust exercise, but the memory of that pained look of his from just moments ago resurfaces and you’d rather not see it again. But if you say yes… it’s obvious what could happen if you slip, even just the tiniest bit. But you’ve come this far, you _know_  that you can resist that wicked charm of his. This is a challenge, and you’ll show him that you’re a force to be reckoned with. “Give me your best shot.”

“As you wish, princess.” God, that voice of his is going to be the death of you.

Maybe you’re going to regret this, but at least you aren’t showing any sign of weakness.

He tugs at your sweatpants and they drop to the floor with a soft plop. You take a deep breath and wait for his fingers to explore the newly exposed skin.

But they don’t.

In fact, you feel his warmth disappear from your backside. Your mouth forms a hard line and your entire body goes tense, waiting for his touch to return once more. But it doesn’t. Is he admiring the view or something? You have to admit that the panties you’re wearing do make your butt look really good.

And Saeran has always been the type to stare.

As the seconds tick past, you start to get antsy. There is no doubt in your mind that Saeran is ingraining the sight before him into his eyes, but it seems a bit strange. The Saeran you know definitely wouldn’t pass out the opportunity to get handsy with you, especially in  _this_  situation. You grumble impatiently. If he’s going to make you wait more, you might as well as take off this blindfold.  

You reach up, but pause when Saeran tuts at you. It sounds like he’s moved from behind you to in front. “Now, now… I thought you were trusting me with this.”

“With what?” Your voice almost sounds mocking. As if you’re challenging him to touch you, as if you want him to. Which you don’t, you’re just surprised he’s not all over you like he normally is. “You’re not doing anything.”

“Isn’t that the point? I’m being so good, so _trustworthy_ , even when you’re like  _this_  in front of me,” Saeran drawls. “But since you’re so eager for my touch, you know I’m happy to oblige.”

“Wait, I never sa-!” You stop abruptly when you feel Saeran’s hands back on your hips. His fingers sneak beneath the hem of your shirt and, in one swift move, slide up your sides, dragging your shirt upwards and exposing even more skin. He cups your breasts, gently caressing them as he undoubtedly admires them.

“…Beautiful,” he whispers. Your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice. That was oddly… tender. You bite your lip and resolve to say nothing, not even to question him on his tone, or else he’ll get an  _ego_.

But maybe you’ve jinxed yourself by thinking that because the next moment, his breath ghosts over your chest and then his teeth graze your nipple and you bite back a  _whimper_. Somehow, not being able to see him makes the sensation more… intense. All you can do is try to anticipate what he’s going to do – and the longer you wait for him to move again, the worse your anticipation gets.

When he finally  _does_  move, you jolt, and when his lips fasten onto your nipple as he runs his thumb over the other, you gasp and feel him smile against your skin. Asshole.

“You…” Your voice shakes, and you pause to steady it. “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course I did.” His fingers skim over your thighs, tracing along the edge of your panties. “Why would I do that on accident?” He repeats the motion, and you shiver, unable to think of some kind of witty reply.

…and then his fingers slide under the elastic of your underwear.

You freeze.

“Trust, remember?” he murmurs softly against your skin.

“When you say ‘trust’ what exactly do you mean?” you ask, finally able to muster the brain power for form one coherent sentence.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he responds with a quiet snicker. “You trust me to do whatever it is that you want me to do.”

Fuck. You bite your lip. That sounds almost like some kind of riddle. He wants you to trust him to do what you want him to? With wording like that it’s almost as if he knows you’re unsure about what you want. Do you want him to just prove that he can see you naked and keep his hands to himself? Or do you want him to do the exact opposite and have him ravish you until- No. Wait. Stop. That is  _not_ what you want. That’s just what he’s made you believe, seducing you with those hands and lips of his.

You know that in your heart of hearts that that’s not what you want. Or, at least, you’re fairly sure of that. It’d be foolish to have deeper feelings for and want someone that toys with you like he does.

But, you can’t deny the curiosity. You have no doubt that it’ll feel as good as he’s led you to believe. The biggest fear you have is that if you indulge him once it’ll just make this whole ‘relationship’ even more messed up and complicated than it already is.

Saeran’s fingers dance tantalizingly over your skin as he awaits your answer. His each and every movement sends shivers up and down your spine and it drives you absolutely insane how you can’t help but crave more of his touch. Just this once, the little gremlin whispers in your mind. Maybe just this once…

“So? What will you decide, princess?”

You know that you can resist Saeran. You’ve been doing it for months. Even if you decide to indulge him this one time, you  _know_  that you have the mental fortitude to withstand any future advances. So, it should be fine, right?

At least that’s what you think until you hear the click of the doorknob.

Your blood runs ice cold.  _Who_  the hell would come to this secluded part of the mansion? You reach up and rip off your makeshift blindfold and whip your head around to see who interrupted you. Standing in the doorway is Eun-ji, her mouth ajar and her entire body shaking so hard you can see the pint of ice cream she brought for you practically bouncing in her hands.

“Eun-ji!” you cry desperately. “Listen-!”

“I’m so sorry!” she squeals, interrupting you. Her eyes flit between you and Saeran, her cheeks glowing an intense red. Eun-ji drops the ice cream and turns on her heel to flee.

“Wait!” you call out to no avail. But Eun-ji is already long gone. You can only hope that she’ll keep what she saw to herself. But even the thought of one other person knowing what happened here is mortifying enough.

“Now that she’s gone, should we continue where we left off?” Saeran whispers seductively in your ear, fingers toying with the band of your panties again.

Although you wouldn’t be against going along with suggestion, the moment where you’d openly admit it has come and gone. You step away from him, tossing him a nonchalant glance as you straighten your clothes out, “Maybe in your dreams.”

“But most definitely in yours,” he retorts smoothly.

And for the next week, that is exactly what you dream of, but it’s not like you’ll tell him that.


End file.
